


All I Wanted Was You

by FawkesyLady (Tarma)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Headmaster Severus Snape, Professor Hermione Granger, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarma/pseuds/FawkesyLady
Summary: Severus is persuaded to help Hermione find a husband under the looming threat of an impending Marriage Law. After months of helping to orchestrate a long line of dates, he succeeds in finding a good match for her. So why is he sitting in his office, drinking instead of going to watch the lout propose in front of the entirety of Wizarding Society on Christmas Eve?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 32
Kudos: 143
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Gift Exchange





	All I Wanted Was You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DaronwyK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaronwyK/gifts).



_“Twas the night before Christmas and within the Headmaster’s tower_

_Not a portrait was stirring, even Dumbledore cowered.”_

  
  


>>*<<

Severus sat in his favourite chair by the fire, drinking. He hadn’t done so since the first Blood War when he’d given up all liquor after waking up after a night of debauchery with a new tattoo. He had long ago ceased to care what the portraits thought of him, few enough among them were genuinely kind and those who were of the good sort had the tendency to meddle. Severus was not entertaining any form of commentary or criticism today, _especially_ from the portrait gallery. 

The Ministry was holding a ball tonight, a lavish echo of those he’d attended here at the castle throughout the years. Anxious to see the Wizarding World return to normal, the Wizengamot had put out the word that they were gearing up to pass legislation designed to encourage (read: force) those of appropriate age to have children to do so and replace the numbers lost. 

It wasn’t worded as an ultimatum yet, but those with any thought for their own happiness were looking about them for options. 

Enter Hermione Granger’s woes. 

Severus refilled his glass and knocked it back with a cough of smoke. 

Granger had attended and completed her last year of schooling before accepting an apprenticeship under Professor McGonagall, who had insisted that he return to his place as Headmaster, the old hag. On the surface he understood it to be an apology of sorts. 

Sorry for trying to murder you, Severus. Ta for keeping everyone safe. 

Underneath, it meant that he was forced to choose between leaving his home of decades in the midst of recovering from his wounds or to continue to sit in the chair and bear the burdens left to him by his late mentor, the famed Albus Dumbledore. White? No, he was more of a grey. His parents should have chosen a different first name, he had fucking enough of them. 

Trouble was, Severus owed a great deal to Hermione Granger. It was her quick thinking that saved his life, her diligent work that kept him from Azkaban, and her stubborn headedness that demanded that he pay her back by becoming a whole wizard, healed and content once more. 

He could have taught her to fly. He might have been able to return her parent’s memories - that is before they died in a motor vehicle accident. Any number of rare and barely legal potions could have been hers to command, but no. 

Hermione had held his hand so earnestly as she said, “What you can do for me, Severus Snape, is to get up, dust yourself off, and do your worst. Spite the world by healing your hurts and become the brilliant wizard you are meant to be.” She had tears shining in her eyes as she said those words, and that memory pierced his heart even now. 

How does one respond to such a ridiculous request made by a sweet weeping witch? Who asks for such a ridiculous boon? It had to be some sort of trap. The notion was so absurd that he’d reacted poorly. By reflex, he’d said something witty and cutting, wished her a good evening and made a tactical withdrawal. 

Severus had wanted to go back to her that same night but was too ashamed of his regression to his old habits. He had been foul and spiteful and every bit of bitter that he felt entitled to be. He was not proud of it. 

Hermione accepted the brunt of his frustration and woe, refusing to leave him alone with all of the stubbornness and strength of character that made her both a Gryffindor and one of the most remarkable people he’d ever had the fortune to know. 

From that night on, over tea in the faculty lounge and other quiet moments, Severus did his best to be less of a bastard. She wanted his friendship and he was powerless to resist. 

Well, now he’d done it. Cocked everything up, properly.

Last summer she’d come to him and explained that she had been told by Arthur Weasley that she needed to find herself a husband. New legislation purporting to address the problem of a dwindling magical population in the UK was coming, and she needed to look out for herself. It seemed to be a simple problem -- how very wrong he was. 

_“I had believed that one of the Weasleys, indeed more than one of them, were interested in you. Surely…?”_

_Hermione shook her head. “That isn’t the life I wanted. Ron moved on after I wouldn’t commit to settling down, and George is happy with Angelina. Percy is not suitable and Charlie is gay.” She shrugged, “So, no.” As an afterthought, she added, “And Neville is with Draco, and Harry’s married.”_

_Mystified, Severus spread his hands in invitation. “And you wish for me to give advice, perhaps?” It pained him but, he admitted, “Granger, I think you would do better to engage one of the more successful matchmakers.”_

_Wringing her hands in anxiety, she pleaded her case, “I am muggleborn, sir. I don’t know anyone. As you know, my social interactions are hardly likely to bring me into contact with my soulmate unless he’s a student. Or the parent of a particularly troubled one.”_

_“Don’t be absurd. Have you tried getting a few drinks at the Three Broomsticks?”_

_The witch crossed her arms defensively. “Bores me.”_

_“How about a dating service?”_

_“I tried that, sir. Last year. The last one was an absolute arse who apparated out of the club from the bathroom.”_

_Severus snorted._

_“It isn’t funny!” She hugged herself, her eyes bright with a breathtaking dichotomy of mirth and vulnerability._

_He controlled himself, barely managing to stop himself from falling out of the chair._

_She must have seen something in his face because she looked away and said, “Stop laughing at me!”_

_“Come now, Granger. I haven’t so much as chortled.” Severus had the urge to hunt down and hex every cowardly wizard who’d walked out on her because she had the audacity to have a brain and wish to use it._

_“Sir, I beg you. Help me. You know all of the graduates from the last two decades. Surely there’s someone like me? A wizard who prefers a quiet night in and values knowledge and competence more than a pretty face?”_

Put like that, it seemed like it wasn’t too difficult of a problem. 

More fool, he, Severus couldn’t say no to this particular witch. Not now, not ever. 

Hermione Granger was turning to him in her need. Begged _him_ of all people. 

It took leg-work which he was happy to delegate. Contacts of his once used for political information now seemed to be eager to help Headmaster Severus Snape, Order of Merlin First Class, Great War Hero, Knew You Weren’t a Wanker. 

Every week they’d have tea and review a series of wizards, strategize over who she should try to meet and the best way to go about it. 

They had been about ready to give up when she met Owen Switch. He was fifteen years her senior, a Ravenclaw who was an established Healer attending the magical version of an A and E. He was a widower, having lost his wife who was a member of the team of Oblivators sent to scrub the memory of Giants attacking the Millenium Bridge from the mundane public and failed to avoid a lethal hex thrown by a straggler. 

Owen Switch was sombre, thoughtful, and witty. While he wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, he was healthy. He would make an excellent husband for Granger. 

Switch was going to propose to Granger tonight and had come to ask for Severus’ blessing. 

The very idea nauseated and enraged Severus in turns. He’d practically tossed the lout out the window. Try to heal that, you simpering little fucker! 

It was not his place to bless or reject the suitor. Granger didn’t see him, Severus Snape, as a father figure. 

Did she?

_Fuck me. How utterly dreadful and predictable. I should have known. Severus Snape, you are the stupidest dunderhead to walk the earth._

And so, not quite understanding why himself, he was spending Christmas Eve in a darkened room in his best dress robes, sulking into an empty glass of fire whiskey. He never drank like this, and frankly, it wasn’t helping to drown out the cacophony inside his mind. 

It was significantly easier to silence the dearly departed Headmasters of Hogwarts past. Necessary, even.

Headmistress Heliotrope Wilkins, dead for over 100 years, had the audacity to suggest that he was in a strop because he wanted Granger for himself. 

Severus denied it and vehemently. He’d brought out the turpentine he kept on hand for such special occasions. 

What good would it do to acknowledge such a ridiculous whim? Hermione Granger would never, _could never_ consider Severus Snape as a possible husband. Her soulmate. 

To fully entertain the notion would only bring him more grief and he’d quite enough of that, thank you.

With these thoughts weighing down his mind, Headmaster Severus Snape sensibly gave up any ambition to attend the Yule Ball and took himself off to bed. 

  
  


>>*<<

  
  


Hermione adored Christmas at Hogwarts. Everything was so beautiful and bright and since she took up an apprenticeship with McGonagall and lost her parents she’d come to think of this as her heart’s home. As she walked down to breakfast with her beaded bag loaded with presents to give, she sang snatches of a Christmas song that would not get out of her head, “Don’t need to hang my stocking.. Upon the fireplace...”

She trotted down the main staircase, two at a time as she caught sight of Hagrid. “Hullo! Happy Christmas, Hagrid!” 

“’ermione!” The half-giant with a soft heart always dropped the H at the start of her name, but Hermione didn’t mind. “Don’t you look like a plum pudding!” 

Giggling, Hermione dusted off her velvet dress with fur trim. “Thanks, I think. I’m not on fire, am I?” 

“Fire? No, no.” Bless him, his beard couldn’t hide the blush that reached all the way to his hairline. “Listen, Hermione. Snape’s in a mood, so you might want to be careful. Keep up a shield charm if you insist on smiling, y’know?” He turned to the side to show her a scorch mark on his backside. 

“What did you do, Hagrid?” Hermione covered her mouth, as if she could pop the laugh back in there, for it was a little bit amusing and it should not have been. She wasn’t twelve.

The Care of Magical Creatures teacher shrugged. “I just wished him Happy Christmas. I think I was the first one he ran into. Don’t know what’s going under his collar, I’d have thought he had a good time at the Ball last night. He dressed the part, cleans up well, our Headmaster. You’d guess he had his heart broken, but then again he’s Severus Snape, ain’t he?”

Hermione’s heart lurched. “What?” A confusing succession of emotions assaulted her. 

Anger! How dare they hurt Severus! 

Fear. I didn’t do something… or say something did I? 

Jealousy! He hadn’t been seeing anyone, surely? 

Sadness. He hadn’t told her. She wasn’t a good enough friend. 

Dejection. Who was she to expect his confidence? Just because she shared hers did not mean he felt the same. 

Instead of elaborating, Hagrid patted her on the shoulder with too much force for comfort and said, “I’ve got to tend the thestrals and then I've a port-key to Olympe’s for Christmas Dinner, so I’ve got to run.” 

Blinking, Hermione gathered her wits and summoned Hagrid’s present from her bag. “Take this with you. It is a little something for you and Madam Maxime, and Hagrid?” She went up on tiptoe and kissed her friend on the cheek. “Thanks for the warning and Happy Christmas!” 

On entering the Great Hall, Hermione saw immediately what Hagrid meant. The staff had left a wide berth of chairs open around the Headmaster’s spot. On one end of the table Pomona, Poppy, and Sybill sat with their heads together, whispering. They stopped as Hermione approached with a cheerful greeting. 

“Good morning! You all look jolly. Already into the rum cake? It isn’t past ten yet!” 

Pomona grinned cheekily, Sybill burped, and Poppy looked vaguely offended. All three witches put on a show of suitable holiday cheer as Hermione brought out her carefully wrapped gifts, accepting some in return. 

After thanks were said, Poppy placed a staying hand on Hermione’s arm as she was about to move on. In a whisper, she said, “Be careful. Go wide around the Headmaster today. He is in a mood. Oh dear, he’s looking this way.” Poppy shivered, squeezing Hermione’s arm before raising her voice to that which might be used by a low-rate actor on stage. “And a very Happy Christmas to you too, Hermione.” 

Suppressing an eye-roll, Hermione gave her a tight smile and turned around to take in the wreck that was their Headmaster. He looked dreadful. He wore all black, which was a regression to his bad old days. Severus Snape wore his black robes as a shield. A mask. This wasn’t good. His complexion had little colour, and his eyes were sunken. The lines about his eyes were pinched and he sat staring at his plate. A paltry pile of mail sat to the side of his place, untouched. 

Hermione was tempted to bypass him entirely so she could at least give the others who had clustered at the other end of the table their pressies before she tried to approach the Headmaster, but it was not possible. As unpleasant as he might be, he was her Severus, and he was deeply miserable. It hurt her heart to see him like this. 

Taking a fortifying breath, Hermione slipped into the chair to his right, looking down at her knees. Her dress was in retrospect, probably a little too flamboyant but here she was. “Happy Christmas, Severus.” 

“Is it? I am surprised to see you here.” He gestured, enchanting the crockery to pour her a cup of tea just as she liked it. Strong with a splash of milk. 

Accepting the cup, Hermione shook her head. “Where else should I be?” She knew exactly where he thought she’d be, but if he was going to be a git about it she wasn’t going to volunteer her news. If he cared to look at her, it should be as evident as her bare left ring finger. 

“Hmm.” That was no answer at all. Slytherin interrogation tactic number four. 

“I didn’t see you at the ball. I should have liked to see you in your finery. It has been a while.” She didn’t really expect an explanation but at least it was an invitation to unload on her what was on his mind, should he wish. It could be her Christmas present to the school. 

“June 5th.” The date was spoken through gritted teeth, as though pulled out of him with force. 

“That long?” She smiled into her tea in surprised delight. _So he did remember._ “We danced at Harry’s wedding, I haven’t forgotten.” How could she? That’s when she realised she was in love with him. 

Severus let out a long-suffering sigh. “I would have been poor company Hermione, and I am disinclined to dance in such a mixed company, as you very well know.” He’d complained of the mixture of hate and strange propositions he tended to attract at such large affairs. 

“Pity.” She helped herself to her usual porridge with a dollop of cranberry chutney and cream and some spiced apples as all of the usual fruit was nowhere to be seen. “You were missed, Severus, and that is all I will say on the matter. After all, it is Christmas”

This irritated the wizard further instead of placating him as she’d intended. “I thought Owen could handle the simple task of escorting his fiancé to a bloody Ball.” 

Hermione dropped her spoon with a clatter. So he did know that Owen was going to ask for her hand. Internally she was seething. _I told Owen specifically not to… oh bother._

She could hear the sneer in his voice, but it wasn’t playful in the slightest. “How disappointing. Tut tut.” These words had teeth and aimed to wound. 

Like children scrambling for seats in a game of musical chairs, her mind was crowded with second guesses and emotions. He was being nasty, but she wasn't going to let him pick a fight. Not like this. “I said no.” 

“I beg your pardon?” At last, he turned to look at her, his expression carefully blank. 

As Hermione picked up her spoon and turned her attention back to her porridge, she felt his shadow fall over her as he leaned forward, blocking out the light. “I am not going to be Mrs Switch. I am sorry if that disappoints you.” She wasn’t upset, really. He was a nice wizard. He was everything she said she wanted, except for one critical detail.

The silence coming from Severus was deafening. 

Hermione took advantage of the calm, shovelling several bites of her breakfast into her mouth with aplomb. As she managed to get most of her breakfast into her, she shored up her resolve. Last night proved to her that she really knew what she wanted. 

She’d been a little drunk at Harry’s wedding when she asked Severus to dance. He’d thought it was on a dare, or perhaps to irritate one of her exes, she discovered to her chagrin after the fact. At the time, he was gracious about it and she was pleasantly surprised to discover that he is a lovely dancer, and could be charming when he so chose. 

He was pleasant, so much so that she’d blithely forgotten that he was still Severus Snape. When she complimented him and suggested they go out sometime, he’d told her she didn’t know what she was asking and that she deserved better and even worse -- he started to avoid her. 

After moaning to Luna about it over coffee, the idea of enlisting Snape’s aid to find Hermione a husband formed. Pansy Parkinson, who turned out to be not so bad after all, was gathered into the conspiracy. 

As she drained the last of her tea, he said, “I don’t understand. I thought you liked him. You dated him for over a month.” 

Owen had become a fast friend, but as a couple, they had no romantic chemistry. They tried, really they did. It was like kissing a flobberworm. A pang of guilt clenched at her gut at the memory. 

In truth, Owen was perceptive enough to pick up on Hermione’s crush on Severus at their first date but liked her enough to keep accepting dates with her. The sham served him as his parents were off his back about getting back into the dating game. It was Owen’s idea to see what happened if he asked for Severus’ blessing. She’d told him not to do it, but he would not be deterred. 

Clearly, it had affected the Headmaster deeply. Luckily, Owen found the whole affair very entertaining. If he’d been sincere, Severus’ tongue lashing would have left a mark. 

_Well, here it goes. Time for brutal honesty. Up Gryffindor and all that rot!_

Hermione folded her hands in her lap and turned to meet Severus’ confused gaze. He looked so bewildered that she almost lost her mind and gave in to the impulse to kiss those shadows away. “I had to end it because he wasn’t you.” 

>>*<<

  
  


“...because he wasn’t you.” She looked into his eyes as she said it and Severus found no hint of malice or amusement. No, it was only the sweetest witch to walk the earth, confessing her admiration for him. 

Denial was his gut reaction. Good things like this could not be true. “You can’t mean that. There are better men out there.” 

“I disagree.” And he could see that she meant it. 

Shaking his head, Severus kept talking, “Kinder, better-looking, younger, richer…” 

“I’ve dated all sorts of wizards, Severus. Merlin’s pants! You’ve helped me vet them! You know what I’ve gone through. Every single one has come up short.” Hermione wiped her mouth on the serviette from her lap and then dropped it on the table. 

Severus waved his hands, “Because you are holding them to ridiculous standards!” 

The sad smile that graced Hermione’s face as she turned back to him was arresting. “I know, poor sods. None of them could hold a candle to you.” 

Bands of cold steel tightened about his chest and he felt woozy. His mind wouldn’t work. His tongue was like cold clay. 

As she leaned in to peck him on the cheek, he couldn’t move. It still hadn’t sunk in when she pushed a brightly wrapped present into his hands. “Happy Christmas, Severus.” 

“I…” Severus swallowed -- or tried to but his mouth was too dry. An eternity passed as he stared back into her beautiful soft brown eyes. At last, he finished lamely, “I don’t have one… a gift.” 

Her smile was tight as she looked away. “That’s alright. All I wanted was you.” She shrugged, and he was abruptly aware of just how indecently lovely she was in that dress; off the shoulder plum velvet with white fur trim that gapped enough to give a peek at the gentle curve of her lovely breast. 

As she walked towards the far side of the table, he watched her hips as they swayed in a hypnotizing fashion. Fuck. Fuck! Fuckity Fuck-Fuck. He knew he was openly staring, but he didn’t care. 

Someone pinched his arm. _Hard._ It was Pomona Sprout, and she was looking rather put out with him. “Well?” 

Hermione had stopped to greet a few of the students who elected to stay at the castle over the holiday.

Rubbing the spot, Severus decided he was going to bruise. “What do you want, Pomona? I’m busy!” 

“Well, not busy enough, I reckon! What are you doing, letting her walk away like that? Go on, go after her you daft pillock!” 

Severus looked around and noticed that the other staff members at the table were wall watching with a mixture of fascination and excitement. Little Flitwick made shooing gestures in his direction. “You… approve?” 

With a dramatic sigh, Pomona answered, “Yes. We’ve all been watching this with great interest for months, Severus. How such a brilliant lad could be so blind is truly baffling. The core of the matter is that Hermione fancies the pants off of you, Severus Snape, and if you are what she wants, then we’re all for it.” 

There was a derisive sniff from Madam Pince. She had always been a vocal critic of romance. The only thing worse in life to her was the defacement of library materials.

“Right, Irma?” The Head Hufflepuff leaned towards the librarian and stared meaningfully at the witch.

Pince looked up to the enchanted ceiling before saying, “I certainly don’t want to suffer through any more of this drama.” She glanced at Severus and picked up her tea before adding irritably, “Good Godric, Severus. Do you need a written permission slip? Go!” 

Standing, Severus cast about, looking for something. Ah! He snatched the large red stick-on bow off of Sybill’s tin of biscuits as he passed with a perfunctory, “I’m going to need this. Thank you, Sybill.” 

“You are welcome, Headmaster.” Trelawney blinked at him slowly and said in her typical dreamy yet supercilious manner, “I knew you would need it.” 

Normally he would have been irritated, but he didn’t hear Sybill as he sprinted away. Already Severus’ head was too full to admit anything or anyone else. 

>>*<<

Hermione shut the door behind her and leaned on it with a groan. “Well, that could have gone worse, I suppose.” 

It hurt that Severus didn’t respond in kind. After all, given everything she knew about him, why did she expect anything different? It was a calculated risk, putting him on the spot like that. 

She had thought herself prepared for possible rejection. “He… probably just needs to think about it. Maybe he’ll come around.” Or maybe he won’t and she’s buggered everything to hell. 

She hadn’t cried. 

Hermione Granger would not cry. Mature witches do not cry over wizards, even if they are as wonderful as Severus. 

Fine. Maybe they do a _little_. 

Wiping away the tears, she pushed away from her door. With determination, Hermione set about the menial task of double-checking her packing list for her visits to Harry and the Weasleys. 

Five minutes later she was in the loo brushing her teeth, and there was a knock at the door. She spit out the toothpaste and called out, “Just a minute!” 

When she opened the door it was to find Severus Snape standing in the hall, fidgeting like a first-year waiting to be sorted. On the top of his head was a fussy red bow, one she recognised as a stick-on affair that she’d purchased last week in Edinburgh. “Hello, Severus. You look festive.” 

“Hermione.” Severus’ black robes and pale complexion made his blush it very evident by way of contrast. It was the most ridiculously endearing thing she’d ever seen.

Cracking a grin, Hermione reached forward and pulled him into her room by the wrist, kicking the door shut behind them. 

He stumbled, nearly losing his decoration along with his footing. It was bloody adorable. “Hermione?” He managed to catch himself, yet it was the uncertainty in his tone that truly struck home as to just how off-balance he was. 

Moved, Hermione took Severus by the hands and guided him to the large, comfortable chair by her hearth. Once he was seated, she perched on the arm of the same chair. In her little sitting area she’d no room for much more so it was there or the floor. Also, she happened to guess that this vantage would give him a front-seat view of her cleavage which was wasted on the nervous wizard. 

Wringing the hem of his overrobe and after several false starts, he said, “Hermione. Obviously, I am terrible at this.” 

Hermione hummed in encouragement. “Just for my own sanity, can you confirm for me that this means what I think it means?” She reached out and touched the bow lightly. It was losing its sticking power. Of course, it wasn’t meant for hair. 

The wizard blushed a deeper shade of red. “Yes.” His dark eyes were nervous as they flicked up to her face and down again to where his hands had gripped the fabric so tightly that she was sure it was going to leave a crease. 

“Truly? Oh Severus!” 

His dark eyes were wide as he whipped his head back up to look at her in shock as if he didn’t believe his ears. 

“Well, well.” She leaned in, deciding it was worth the risk of possibly falling into his lap. “I must have been a very good girl this year.” 

That got the laugh Hermione was hoping for. 

“You are mental, Hermione.” He didn’t back away as she slowly leaned into his personal space.

“Over you? Yes, Severus. I most certainly am.” Her lips were so close to his that she could feel the heat of his breath as he answered her. 

“Straight to Janus Thickey I think, little witch.” He smiled at her and the sight was breath-taking. 

Perhaps it was silly, but she wanted to hear him say Yes again. “May I kiss you?”

After another few heart beats he said, “Yes. As much as you want.” 

Heart full to the bursting point, Hermione felt that yes all the way down to her toes as she claimed her prize. Kissing Severus Snape was far better than she had imagined. Hermione was quite certain it might be her favourite thing ever and when they broke for air, she gasped. “Happy Christmas to me!” 

With an inarticulate noise of irritation edged with a low growl of desire, Severus reached up and pulled Hermione down into his lap and set about making this particular Christmas present the best she’d ever had. 

Calmer voices prevailed within the Wizengamot and the impending Marriage Law was voted down in favour of offering financial incentives to marry and produce offspring. 

The following Christmas, Severus didn’t seem to mind too much when Hermione demanded a repeat performance to the shock of the gallery of portraits eavesdropping in the Headmaster’s Office. Being a wizard who valued tradition, Severus proposed marriage, pledging to love her and spend every Christmas morning having fantastic sex for the rest of their lives. 

It was a tradition that they kept with vigour -- at least until they welcomed their first child and being rational parents who were both exhausted and still deeply in love, they invented new traditions. 

  
  


Happy Christmas, and to all a good night. 

  
  


>> _Finite Incantatem_ <<

**Author's Note:**

> Title and a few lyrics are references to the 1994 hit "All I Want for Christmas Is You" written by Mariah Carey and Walter Afanasieff.
> 
> Thanks to Qdrew for being my beta and to LunaP999 for her commadarie and support. You are both amazing!


End file.
